


Bonding Exercise

by beekeepercain



Series: Mockumentary!verse [1]
Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Abuse, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Bottom Jared, Bottom Jensen, Dubious Consent, M/M, Manipulation, Mental Health Issues, Mockumentary!verse, Mutual Masturbation, Riding, Rimming, Sex Tapes, Switching, Top Jared, Top Jensen, mockumentary
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-02
Updated: 2016-09-26
Packaged: 2018-05-04 12:20:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 19,711
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5333885
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beekeepercain/pseuds/beekeepercain
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Finally done with your scene, huh?" Jared asks in a voice that conveys friendliness about as well as a snake spitting venom through a tank glass.</p><p>Jensen nods awkwardly, and his swallow gets stuck on the way down his throat. He doesn't know what to say, so he doesn't do or say anything at all, just stands there like an idiot, his phone still out but the screen's gone dark, with rain trickling down his chest and the thighs of his jeans. Instinctively, he matches up Jared with his eyes; taller, thicker, stronger. There's nothing he can say or do to tell him to go away.</p><p>"I was thinking," the man speaks with a smile on his face, a smile that Jensen wishes the pale lighting cast from the studio building would at least try to shroud, but he can't get away from it, "why haven't we ever tried to bond? So - why not come over tonight and start?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Deer Boy

**Author's Note:**

> **Disclaimer, or Caution: The bewerage you're about to enjoy is hot:** This is a shameless abuse romanticization fic where rape is sexy and the victim can fall in love with his abuser. Do not use as a handbook to a healthy relationship.

 

 

 

* * *

 

In the storm, the darkness is nearly impenetrable. It weeps cold rain into Jensen's hair, over his face, in his eyes and down the collar of his shirt. It's such a short trek from the door to his trailer, but it feels much longer now, and his steps feel heavy as his legs seem to weight more with each foot he covers towards his destination. But he doesn't need to see where he's going now - hasn't for years. This path is so familiar to him. He's walked down the same trail almost every day for a decade, and it's been burned into his memory, his muscles, his instincts all like only the way home could be. Inside, he can dry up: the storm doesn't matter, can't hurt him there, can't get to him and drench him to the bone before he's already safe and sound inside. He'll stretch the chill out of his muscles, blend a fresh smoothie, shower and then finally meditate away the stress of the day, and tomorrow the storm will be gone and the grounds will be wet and the wind will still be angry, but this darkness will have passed, and... what else could he ask for?

Perhaps for one thing, but he pushes it out of his mind. Jared has been the same ever since they started filming, and he's not going to change just because Jensen would be more comfortable here if he did. His phone's screen flares to life in the black void ahead of him, and as he walks on, he opens an email after an email to catch up with everything he's missed during the day on set. The only one that catches his interest is the one advertising a yoga retreat: he's been with the same group before, and next summer, who knows? He marks it, moves it into a folder. If he can't go, he'll at least have the fantasy of it for the next couple months.

He lifts his head, reaches out his hand for the trailer's door, and stuns. His heart skips a beat and his blood freezes within him, all at once, at the sight of a face all too close to him, a shape, a figure leaning against the trailer door in a wet black hoodie and a pair of dark jeans, so well camouflaged against the storm that the only thing giving him out is his fair skin. Hair peeks out from underneath the beanie, framing Jared's face softly, but the sharpness in his eyes can't be diluted by it - he's watching Jensen like a tiger, and in front of him, Jensen is a deer. He shrinks back, forgets his phone out in the rain, and his fingertips linger upon the door's handle like he's suddenly thinking twice about opening it at all. But where can he run? What could he have left behind at the studio, who could he be meeting this late when everyone's packed up and headed home? There's no one to save him from this. Never, not once, in the decade past has Jared waited for him here: Jared, simply, couldn't care less. It's the only blessing Jensen has ever had with his co-star. He's never cared enough to come to him. Not until now.

"Finally done with your scene, huh?" Jared asks in a voice that conveys friendliness about as well as a snake spitting venom through a tank glass.

Jensen nods awkwardly, and his swallow gets stuck on the way down his throat. He doesn't know what to say, so he doesn't do or say anything at all, just stands there like an idiot, his phone still out but the screen's gone dark, with rain trickling down his chest and the thighs of his jeans.  
Not _his_ , strictly speaking. Dean's. He's still wearing Dean, but there's none of that bravery in him. Instinctively, he matches up Jared with his eyes; taller, thicker, stronger. There's nothing he can say or do to tell him to go away.

"I was thinking," the man speaks with a smile on his face, a smile that Jensen wishes the pale lighting cast from the studio building would at least try to shroud, but he can't get away from it, "why haven't we ever tried to bond? So - why not come over tonight and start?"

'Bonding' is about the last thing that Jensen wants to do. The rain comes down harder, finally causes Jared to look up.

"Or are you going to make me stand out in the rain?" he asks, his voice split between barely concealed anger and a strange victorious tone.

Jensen shakes his head so vigorously it hurts his neck. It shouldn't. He's at the last stage of his routine. He should be relaxed, pliant. Purified, detoxed, flexible. He's none of that. He's a dense ball of anxiety and bone-chilling fear. Through it all, he smiles.

"Of course not," he says and his voice is stretched thin, "Sorry. I was - didn't expect to..."

He's never known how to talk around Jared. The key turns in the trailer door and he opens the way into his home, his safe place, his den; this is his territory, but now it's become nothing but an enclosed space into which the prey leads the predator. Like a cave with a wall at the other end of it - he's got nowhere to run from here. Words couldn't save him. Now no one can.  
He doesn't dare to turn around as he discards his shoes beside the door, afraid to see Jared follow him in although he can feel and hear him moving about just beside him. But why should he be so afraid of him? A conflict brews within him until he looks, and he glances back just in time to see Jared brush back his wet hair, eyes keen upon the small mirror by the door. He seems oblivious to Jensen's presence, and for a moment, Jensen feels like he can breathe again. He turns his gaze back down and moves into the trailer, away from the door, closing it behind them. The lock clicks, and he's trapped.

Who's to say what Jared wants?

"I think it's, uh, I think it's - um - it's nice that you, um, want to get to know me -"

Jared's face snaps to his direction, and he's smiling again, and if possible, his smile makes Jensen even more uncomfortable now than it did before. He steps back, collides with the couch and pretends that was his plan all along. With trembling legs he moves around it and sits down, only to find out that the only thing he's achieved by it is an added level of insecurity and vulnerability. Jared's still standing. He shows no sign of even considering sitting down. Worse yet, Jensen can't keep track of him now, not without looking as afraid as he feels. He hears him walk behind the couch, steps lazy and relaxed, and then, to his surprise and shock, he feels the man's hands land over his shoulders. Jared bends down over him, chin brushing his cheek, and a drop of cold water from the shoulder of his hoodie falls down into Jensen's clothes. He breathes, softly, against Jensen's head and somehow, Jensen even expects to hear him purr. He expects the raw, sharp, deep purring of a large cat - instead, he hears a chuckle.

"Actually - I already know you," he speaks as softly as he breaths, "but you've never made much of an effort to get to know me, now have you?"

Jensen shudders. Can't help it - that's how it comes, violent and sudden, shaking him underneath the other man's touch. He regrets it immediately, but there's nothing he can do about it. Instead of commenting - acknowledging it - Jared shifts, stands up again and moves around the couch. He inspects the candles set in front of the TV and then, without asking, lights all three of them. It doesn't take him long to wander back to the door and Jensen's heart is thundering inside his chest when he hears his palm settle over the light switch.

"Wouldn't it be nice," Jared asks him, and just like that the lights are out and the only thing guarding them against the darkness are those three scented candles, "to be _brothers_ like PR says we are? To be close - to be... something special?"

(The scent of apple lingers in the air soon after the candles are lit. Cinnamon joins it, less prevalent, less powerful, and is finally filled by the undertone of orange blossoms. They used to keep Jensen safe from the gusts of wind, the drumming rain, the roar of thunder, and from the pressures of his work, of pulling his public role day after day. Now, they do nothing but envelope his fear with a scentscape that mocks his tension.)

Jared's moving again, and in the candle-lit darkness, the sound of thunder echoes from further away. It paces his steps until none remain, and he settles on the couch next to Jensen, fingers slipping underneath the collar of his flannel.

"You're wet."

"Oh," Jensen hears himself say, "Yeah. Yeah. So - are you."

He laughs, and his laugh is terrified. Jared watches him, eyes dark, calculative; he's good at that. Good at calculating. Jensen's good at emotions, and unfortunately, he can't see any on Jared now. It's like he's not made of those things, not of a spirit and an aura like most people, but just of calculations, mathematics and theory. He's a living canvas for cause and consequence, nothing more. The flannel slips off of Jensen's body, leaving his drenched shoulders and chest feeling cold even though the temperature inside is set to perfection. This is the temperature in which his mind can relax and his body can ease itself into sleep without issue. Now the warmth of it is not enough, but the touch of Jared's hand as it rests briefly on top of his grey t-shirt's now black sleeve directly over his arm, large enough to cover half of the curve of his shoulder at the same time, is everything the temperature is not. Warm - firm, but not threatening. It vanishes as the man leans back, takes up a relaxed pose against the back of the couch and starts fingering at the hem of his hoodie. His eyes are still upon Jensen as Jensen reaches behind his back to pull out the wet flannel from there. Nervously, he bundles it up and throws it onto the arm chair nearby. He has that frozen smile on him, and he chuckles again, hoping it'll make him look relaxed.

His pupils are wide, much wider than the dim lighting requires, and he doesn't need a mirror to tell him that. He can feel it, and he's looking for words to divert Jared's attention from the fact - from his shallow breathing, his scared glances around as he maps his surroundings for an escape route for any and all situations - but he can't find any. No words, no escape routes. He swallows and again it feels like his throat just knots itself, but through the pain he turns back to Jared anyway.

_He's just here to visit._

"I think it'd be great," his brain backtracks to the non-conversation Jared initiated a while ago, "to be as close as PR says we are. It'd be amazing. I think - I think it's a waste that we aren't, really. You know, two Texan guys, same culture, same grooming... working the same set for a decade... and we don't have much to show for it, right?"

Jared nods, seeming satisfied with the answer he's gotten. He pulls up just enough to take off his hoodie, revealing white from underneath the black, a tight-fit t-shirt hugging close to his muscled frame and his strong arms as he stretches up and then relaxes, dropping the wet hoodie onto his lap. He doesn't bother folding it into an acceptable form but throws it on top of Jensen's flannel unceremoniously. The temperature in the trailer seems warm enough for him. He doesn't seem to care one way or the other, anyway.

"Do you ever read what the fans write?" Jared asks, his eyes squinting.

It sounds casual, relevant to the earlier subject, to PR, to their supposed brotherhood. Jensen accepts it, leans into it, lets the topic embrace him - he knows how to talk PR, well, to an extent anyway. It's his turn to nod.  
"They're happy that we're so close, right? Man, they go crazy whenever we post something together on Twitter, or - or whatever, right?"  
Constantly seeking approval. Like he's not entitled to his own opinions.

Jared's smile widens. For the first time, he looks away; seeks out the candles with his eyes and watches the flames dance, their reflections following suit upon the TV screen behind them.  
"I didn't mean that. Of course they suck it up, that's half the appeal for them. The 'family' or whatever. I mean the part that they don't send you. The _fantasies_ they have about us."

Again, Jensen's lost his footing. No, he doesn't read that stuff. Never has, never wanted to. He knows it exists - it's been sent to him, alright, that's where Jared's wrong (but how could he know, he never opens his mail and his assistants pick out the comments he responds to Facebook - he's never taken the dive, never cared enough to bother). Jensen's more tuned-in, always reads what the fans send him, or at least he tries; he sets aside an hour or two of his day for nothing but, every day, unless the filming schedule ruins it for him. It's been like that for years. It can't cover everything - Twitter is insane, new messages coming in by the second, hundreds of them immediately after he posts anything. But what he can... he'll try. So yes, he's seen the things the fans write, but he's never looked deeper than the cover. It's not for him, it's for _them_.

His eyes run through Jared's form again, marking down the trained, well-kept shape of his body, the veins on his arms, all of it, and he shudders. He doesn't want to think about that. It's the last thing he could want. It takes him a moment to notice that Jared's looking at him again, but when he does see it, it makes him jump.

"I hope the topic doesn't make you uncomfortable?" Jared says, and the softness of his smile still doesn't reach up to his eyes.  
When Jensen doesn't answer, he carries on anyway.  
"I did some... _research_ into it. Just for fun. I'm sure you've done it yourself plenty of times. You know about 'Wincest', everyone knows about that, but I was more curious - you know, what they'd write about _us._ And fuck... they write a lot."

Jensen forces himself to laugh again.  
"I bet they do. I'm not - I'm not into that stuff - I don't go looking - it's just not for me. So I wouldn't know."  
He hopes the message's clear enough, but a part of him already knows that Jared's not going to stop talking about it. Maybe he's trying to unnerve him on purpose. He's done worse before.

Jared moves his hand to his knee. The same warm, firm hold that was over his arm before now rests upon his knee, and the man's slender, long fingers caress the wet fabric of Jensen's (Dean's) jeans over his thigh. The dark inside his eyes sparkles dangerously, and Jensen wants to pull out, jump up and walk to the door, laugh about how late it is, but all of that gets stuck inside him as he's filled with ice cold water again, his whole body stiff with fear.

"What strikes me as interesting," the man continues, stroking, stroking, stroking, stroking, "is the _depth_ they put into intercourse. You know, you and me sleeping together... me filling you up, making you feel complete. It sounds like fun. Sounds like something that could bring us closer, you know? You ever think about that?"

_No. Never._

The words are stuck, and so is Jensen's breath, hitched somewhere inbetween his throat and his chest, tongue glued to the top of his mouth. His heart is beating so hard he's almost certain Jared can hear it, and it hurts, _hurts_ , as it strains against his ribcage.  
Jared's hand moves further up his thigh, leaving behind the knee that he's warmed up and which now suddenly faces with the cool temperature that the rest of Jensen has to deal with. The warmth moves onto his inner thigh, stops in the middle and Jared pushes his fingers underneath Jensen's leg so that the whole of his palm rests over the sensitive side of it. The movement sends up a wave of arousal right into Jensen's groin, but his cock barely reacts to it. His breathing releases, however, in a shaky little gasp that Jared notices - and it grows another smile on him, one that almost looks relieved, but is perhaps only so because he's getting exactly what he wanted with so little effort.

A voice is screaming inside Jensen's head, telling him to move, walk out, walk away, _escape_ and it doesn't matter where or why. It's his last chance, maybe too late already, but he can't just let this go on without trying to save himself. And then he's up, heart beating so hard he can feel it in his fingertips and his mouth and in his ears. He's walking away, just like that, towards the door, already thinking through how he's going to tell Jared to go back in his own trailer (still polite - 'I'm tired, it's getting late, we have a scene tomorrow pretty early and we both know you need your gym session before then, so -') when Jared takes a hold of his hand, pulls him back. He's standing now, too, and Jensen doesn't know what to do when their bodies collide, Jared's both hands so tight around his arms that the hold _hurts._ He doesn't react beyond closing his eyes when the man's lips collide with his neck, sucking, and biting follows quite soon after - he feels himself being walked backwards towards the bedroom space, but it's a long way to go and he manages to whimper something before they're that far.

"Stop," he hears himself say, "I don't want -"

The response is a bite a little harder than the rest, teeth digging a little deeper into his skin than the nibbles before. It's a threat, a warning; _I have control over you._

He falls onto the bed as a struggling heap when his calves collide with the edge, all too soon for him to be prepared for it. The scents of apple, cinnamon and orange blossoms are turned off when Jared closes the door, and the only thing giving them light are the dim windows above the bed, grimy with rain and dirt since the last washing. Jensen can barely see around him, but it's not the darkness that does it, it's the panic swelling inside him that blinds him, but it's useless to struggle; Jared's over him already, knee pressed between his legs, palm cupping the same place, fondling, pressing, gripping. His mouth seeks out Jensen's neck again and suddenly, there's no fight anymore. It's just a stillness, and Jensen's lying there like a dead body, eyes staring up at the ceiling, taking what's coming, silent, motionless, barely breathing. His heart is the only thing still well and alive within him.

"C'mon. Don't be like that," Jared mutters against his chest, his left hand bringing up Jensen's t-shirt to reveal more of him.  
He licks at Jensen's erect nipple, then at the other, wraps his mouth over it and sucks - it sends a shudder down the older's body, and Jensen closes his eyes again, shuts them so tight that it hurts.  
"You told me _you_ wanted to be closer. I don't wanna hurt you."

Jensen lets him undress him, because there's no alternative; he can't say anything. He already tried the only thing that could have helped him, and it did nothing, nothing at all. He's scared, cold, shivering like it's hypothermia and not fear that's torturing his body, like Jared's not warm against him, and when he opens his eyes again, his mind is at a blank.

For a moment, Jared stops; he sits there, his own shirt off and Jensen's, too, belt open where Jensen's jeans are already dragged down his thighs, and watches. Jensen can't be sure but he _hopes_ he's not seeing things when uncertainty flashes across the dark-dulled green in Jared's eyes.

"I don't want to hurt you," Jared repeats, and the same uncertainty lingers in his voice, "C'mon. This is just for fun."

Jensen, his mind full of static noise, turns his eyes and catches Jared's; he watches him for a moment and feels like an idiot with tears gathering at the corners of his vision. His arms still ache where Jared held him down earlier, and he's pretty sure he's twisted or pulled a finger inbetween there somewhere, and he feels miserable, weak, dirty.  
He turns away when Jared bends down again, now a lot more gentle, slow; his lips drag over Jensen's throbbing, bruising neck, his breath hits it warm and soft, and when he finally reaches Jensen's ear and takes it between his teeth, the touch is playful, not violent.

"I'm really good at this," he promises Jensen, speaking quietly into his ear, "Never done it with a guy before but I don't think it's that different."

And for some reason, Jensen nods. It's not like it makes a difference, but he'll take gentle over rough any day. He's never had a man, either; maybe he's wanted to, once or twice, but he's kept that to himself.

"That's better," Jared mutters, and his hand slips between Jensen's legs again.

His touch meets something of a growing hardness there; warmth pools around that part of Jensen, a familiar ache that makes him want to cross his legs. He tries to, or at least makes a pitiful attempt - his legs do nothing more than twitch, then lean limp towards each other. His knees still point into different directions, and for some reason, recognising that makes him feel like a little boy all over again.

Jared's all kisses now, marking paths down Jensen's body all the way up to his lower abdomen. Each time his mouth presses against the sensitive skin on Jensen's belly, his muscles twitch and his breathing hitches again. He closes his eyes and feels a sense of relaxation spread into his body, replacing the rigor mortis of earlier, and he can breathe again. Maybe it won't be that bad. Maybe it won't hurt.

( _It's just for fun._ )

He tries meditation to get away from it all, but feels like he's betraying himself by taking distance - he returns, opens his eyes and keeps staring at the ceiling. His hand reaches down towards Jared's, takes a light hold of his wrist on the hand that's massaging his cock through his boxer briefs, and his lips part and a small but heavy breath escapes him. A shiver crosses him again, and his legs are still trembling, but he feels warmer now.

"You got lube here somewhere, right?" Jared asks him.

He nods, reaches out of the bed and points towards a drawer, all without looking away from the ceiling.  
"There."

The fact that he's never slept with a man doesn't mean he's never been penetrated by anything. He's played on his own - he's learned to find his prostate both with his fingers and his toys, and sometimes, that's what he _needs_. It takes care of some burning need within him, a desire that running his fist over his cock just can't fulfill. It's so much more throughout that he can feel those orgasms in the marrows of his bones, and sometimes he blacks out from them, his body and soul for once in perfect harmony. But his toys are not all too thick, and he's sensitive down there, tears easily, even when taking precautions. The thought of it makes him clench his jaw and his muscles tense again; he can feel his rim closing, too, just from the anticipation of pain.

The drawer opens, Jared's hand dives in and moves around things for a moment before closing it again. Soon after, he pulls down Jensen's pants entirely, even takes the time to take off his wet socks, and Jensen's not sure if he appreciates it or if it just makes him feel more controlled. But now that the violence is gone, there's a certain sense of care in everything Jared does, like he's suddenly learned to empathize - Jensen's seen that with fans, the way he can drop his usual coldness and replace it with something else entirely, something that seems to fill his emotionless eyes with sincerity even when he doesn't give a fuck. And Jensen has no idea how he does it, but it feels so genuine, even now that he knows it can't be. He's lived with Jared long enough to be able to call his tricks, and this is one of them. But damn, it just... almost feels real.

His eyes shut again and he hisses out of shock when Jared takes a hold of his hard erection and runs his fist up and down its length for a few times. His grip is firm again, but not painfully so, just enough to make it feel good - he seems confident, almost to the point of carelessness, but his each movement still remains accurate and filled with purpose. He keeps doing it when his lube-soaked fingertip presses against Jensen's body, the ring of muscle closing up tightly at contact; to Jensen's surprise, Jared waits until he's relaxed again before pushing in nothing more than a fingertip.

"I _don't_ want to hurt you," Jared says again, pressing the word 'don't' in a manner that he never did before.

Jensen nods, breathes in a shaky breath and opens his eyes again. The finger moves in deeper, then pulls out completely: it's coated with another layer of lube before Jared presses it against his rim again, and now he doesn't put it in, just massages the entrance lightly with his fingertip, spreading the lube around it. The tip plays around entering for a good few movements before it finally sinks deeper again, and Jensen's body reacts to that, pushing his back up an inch or so from the bed - a heavy breath leaves his lips again, now more audible than before. Jared's fist has slowed down around his cock, but he's still keeping up a pace that makes each movement of his finger feel twice as good as it otherwise would.

He's throughout with a single finger, moving it in up to the second knuckle before joining just the tip of a second finger in. He's careful with stretching Jensen open, slow about it, and he's breathing in a controlled manner that Jensen recognises from his own exercises; he's doing it on purpose, there's no other way a person can count seconds, heartbeats, between inhales and exhales as accurately as Jared is doing now. His own breathing falls into that pattern, he's used to it, and it fills him with dizzying relaxation almost immediately from conditioning alone. Jared's fingers push in deeper, and the stretching sensation feels so good that it alone could make Jensen go over the edge - but right there and then, as if somehow knowing that, Jared's other hand lets go of Jensen's cock and leaves it to rest against his lower abdomen with just a drop of pre-come coating the tip.

He dares both his fingers in to the last knuckle now - the tips brush against something inside Jensen that hurts, not much but like a warning, and a small whimper escapes him before he can control himself. He tenses, waiting for a punishment, for something, but Jared just retreats his fingers back and lets him relax around them again before continuing. The next time he pushes them deeper, the pain is just a phantom memory, a threat that is never fulfilled. It takes a while for Jensen to realise that he's no longer lying down like a corpse, but simply resting on his back now; he's not filled with panic anymore either, and the strokes that massage him from the inside no longer feel entirely uninvited, like an intrusion. With his hand trembling, he reaches down again, brushes his fingers over Jared's arm in some kind of a wordless thank-you for the change, and when he retreats, he doesn't move far; his hand grips his cock and strokes at it in a trying manner, again expecting to be pushed away, but nothing happens. Jared keeps fingering him open, and his own fist gives him the pleasure for it: when a third finger joins the two in his now relaxed hole, he even moans a little.

He doesn't want to look at Jared, but he knows there's a hint of a smile on him; there's that calculative expression on his features again, and everything about him seems like he's concentrated on a task, much like when he's acting. That's when he's always been the safest for Jensen, the least likely to suddenly explode, to break something, to shout - he's good at concentrating, when he's given the right environment to do so. He shifts a little, and Jensen, overcome with some strange determination, lets go of his dick and reaches down for Jared's; it takes a bit of reaching for him to come to contact with the fabric of his briefs, but the firmness underneath it is impossible to mistake for anything else. He pushes the back of his palm against it, presses it against Jared's body within the constraints of his underwear, and another sound escapes him, this one a little conflicted, unsure. This guy's _big,_ nothing like the toys Jensen's ever had inside him.

"Hey, Jen..."

"Mmh?"

"Where's your camera?"

Jensen stills, and a breath escapes him, empties his lungs completely. He raises up a little from the bed, leans onto his elbows and frowns.  
"You're not - you can't -"

Jared just smiles, waits, three fingers deep inside Jensen's ass. The tip of his middle finger bends ever so slightly, and somehow, so precisely it can't be an accident, rubs directly into his prostate. Jensen shudders, mouth falling open to take in a gasp, and his eyes close to the rush of pleasure hitting him directly to his core, surrounding his pubic centre with so much energy it feels like he's lost to it for a brief second. When he regains control over himself, he can barely form words.  
"In - on the - kitchen counter, next to - to the sink," he breathes, and his body mourns the loss when the fingers move away from him again.

Jared looks satisfied, but when he's gone, he's gone for such a long while that it makes Jensen suspicious - scared again. He starts forming worst-case scenarios, imagines Jared returning with a knife for whatever horrible reason, and for the life of him, he can't decide if this is consensual or not. Does he want to be here? How stupid can a man be when he doesn't even know what he wants? His fist grips his cock again, strokes at it for a few times, but without Jared there, it seems... pointless, wrong. The lube grows cold between his buttocks again, and whenever he moves, he feels that slickness between his legs that makes him uncomfortable, embarrassed. And in the other room, Jared's still moving around - it takes him four minutes to come back, no more and no less; Jensen knows by the numbers on his alarm clock, changing faithfully with every count of sixty seconds.

Jared pushes the thin door open with his bare feet, now naked, having ditched his remaining clothes somewhere in the rest of the trailer. Even his beanie is gone, but his hair, as always, looks styled and perfect underneath it. His cock hangs hard between his legs, and Jensen avoids looking at it the best he can. He's carrying a whole bunch of things over and under his arm, and in his other hand, he's got the video camera that Jensen had used earlier to film some of his exercises for the new assistant who'd been so enthusiastic to learn from him: Jared had seen them, he'd sneered at them, and apparently he'd made the connection between the camera and Jensen. It doesn't surprise Jensen, not really, as if there's one thing that Jared is well known of on the set other than his instability and cruelness, it's got to be his sharp mind and logic.

"There's just enough battery," the man smiles as he sets the camera on the bedside table, eyes flickering past Jensen's with a sort of an uncharacteristic playful warmth lingering in the expression.  
He seems genuinely happy that the camera is going to work. Jensen isn't so sure how he feels about it, but he doesn't know how to tell Jared not to use it, either. At least it's better than a mirror - and it's hardly blackmail material. Jared has his own reputation to protect, and he isn't wearing a mask to cover up who he is. He's giving Jensen just as much of a weapon against him as he's making one for himself.

He drops the rest of the things he's carrying on the bed next to Jensen before starting to set up the camera for filming. To Jensen's surprise, he realises that the pile of unknown objects he'd brought with him are the apple-scented candles from underneath the DVD player in the other room, and a lighter; his expression seems to betray his surprise, as Jared picks up on it almost immediately.

"Thought some mood lighting would work better on film than just the ceiling light."

Thunder cracks again. It's closer now than before and shakes the trailer as it fades. Jensen nods uncertainly - this is a pleasant twist, and he isn't sure how to react to it.

"Help me set it up?" Jared asks him, planting a tea light on Jensen's navel.

Jensen catches it and nods.  
"Sure, I... I guess."

He glances at the camera: the red flashing light tells him it's filming already. Looking at it gives him the creeps - he still has no trust for Jared, for his intentions, and if this is to be a snuff film...

_Aren't you a bit paranoid?_

They light up candles around the room on any surfaces available - it's a limited space, with limited surfaces to plant candles on, but they're creative enough for the remaining space to be bathed in golden, gently swaying glow anyway. Every now and then Jared makes sure the camera is shooting right, and when the lighting is finally satisfactory for him, he takes a hold of Jensen's arm and guides him back on the bed. Next, he grips Jensen's legs and brings them up: Jensen opens his mouth to complain, but before he can get a word out, Jared's mouth is already pressed against his ass, lips slipping over the lube spread over so carefully from earlier. The moment his tongue laps over the sensitive ring of muscle, Jensen is already sold. His back arches again, and a choked, extended moan escapes his mouth. The sensation is like nothing he's ever felt before as the warm, textured muscle moves in and out of his still-stretched hole, licking up the lube, invading his body and then retreating again. It makes him shake and he doesn't even dare to think about touching his cock, as more pre-come is gathering at the tip already. He glances at the camera again, and with heat rushing into his head, he dares to look a little while longer - his expression is almost challenging, though ridden with lust, lips parted and cheeks flaring with red from the warmth the candles are generating in the room and this... _this_ that is now happening.

"I - I guess Sam's..."  
He's panting, his voice hoarse and rough.  
"... not the only one who's good with his mouth, huh?"

Jared's chuckle is just another intense wave of pleasure for Jensen. It hits his sensitive flesh in the best way possible, cool and dry against the heated wetness that covers his hole. He still feels the smile against his ass when Jared goes down on him again, this time a little more urgently, as if driven by the compliment he'd gotten.  
Jensen reaches down, slides his fingers in the midst of Jared's hair; the man tenses, pulls up and snarls.

" _Don't_ touch my hair."

Jensen swallows - he holds his eyes closed as embarrasment spreads over his skin as just another layer of heat. He nods.  
"Sorry."

He should have known better. For a second, he fears that had been the one mistake that couldn't be forgiven, but then Jared's mouth is over him again - it lasts for a damn good long while, and he's nothing but a bundle of overstimulated nerves when another lubed-up finger finally replaces the tip of the man's tongue inside him.  
A confident, teasing smirk lingers on Jared's lips when he looks down at Jensen and sees him there, panting, skin glimmering with enough sweat to reflect the flames surrounding them. He pushes in a second finger, plays with Jensen's hole carelessly for a moment before reaching for the lube again. He never stops watching as he pours some over his palm, fingers now out of Jensen again, and takes a firm hold of his own cock while Jensen's still watching: it seems to give him pleasure just to have someone look at him as he jerks himself off, each movement throughout but relaxed. Slick, wet sounds fill up the room, and Jensen feels each of them within his body as tingles of pleasure, of anticipation.

"Want it?" Jared asks him, his voice deep and breathless.

Jensen nods, but it doesn't seem to be enough. He feels his skin crawl with embarrasment, but the longer the pause grows, the more anxious he gets.  
"I want it," he finally pushes through, catching Jared's attention again.

For a second, the man's fist slows over his cock, tightens around the tip and Jensen sees him shiver.

"How bad?"

Jensen swallows. He closes his eyes and hopes this won't go on for a longer while - he's never been good at dirty talk, he's modest, he's shy, and it doesn't fit in his mouth.  
"Please," he utters instead.

Jared's weight moves over him, one large hand pressing into the mattress on his side. Real anxiety grips Jensen again - a shiver of fear crosses him, and he moves restlessly, shifts, considers saying something again. He sees Jared take a hold of his cock, preparing to enter him; he seems too big to fit, and Jensen's breathing goes shallow.  
"Wait - wait."

Jared's eyes flicker towards him. He leans his weight back over his knees with Jensen's legs on his both sides, again trying desperately to point towards each other and failing just as miserably by his anatomy as before, and to Jensen's shock, Jared runs his hand through his short, styled hair.  
"Keep breathing. It won't hurt."

"I'm not sure - I - Jared, I don't know..."

"We've gotten this far, right? You kinda owe it to me."

"But if I - shit, Jared. If I tell you not to..."

Jensen watches the smile on Jared's face remain unaffected. His expression is almost condescending.  
"You won't," Jared tells him with half a shrug, "So it doesn't matter."

And he's right. For better or worse, he's right, and Jensen says nothing to contest him - instead, he closes his eyes again, breathes in and holds his breath before releasing it again. Jared gives him a moment to get into the rhythm, and then, without speaking, he leans forwards again, presses his elbow into the mattress and reaches his hand into Jensen's hair, and finally, Jensen can feel the hot tip of his sex press against his rim. It pushes against his flesh, slips up from there and spreads a warm trail of lube over Jensen's body; Jared adjusts it back over the ring of muscle and moves forwards, slowly, carefully, and this time, his cock slides in. The crown stretches the entrance open in a manner that makes Jensen whimper, not out of pain but out of anticipation of it. The sound seems to keep Jared on edge, and he waits again for Jensen to relax around him before he moves further. He doesn't go far in, just enough to stretch the other man out a little more than his fingers did before, and then he pulls out again, the sensation spreading stars into Jensen's vision. He's holding his breath again, and when Jared's out completely, he tries to catch up on it again. He counts as he breathes in, then holds, and Jared's body is joining with his again when he lets air out - it happens without the threat of pain this time, and he can feel the man's cock enter him a little deeper. He's never felt that way before, never felt so... full of anything, and he reaches out, brings his fingers over Jared's shoulder, then the back of his neck, perhaps for control or just to feel some kind of closeness from him. It helps him feel more at ease when the movement continues, when Jared's hips thrust into him and the pull back again, leaving him feeling open and used and needy for the next time his body is filled up again.

Jared's fingers are still tangled in his short hair, barely moving but occasionally Jensen feels him stroke through them from a small area, slow and unrefined, but he's almost certain it requires conscious effort to remember. His body's burning up - he holds back from doing so for a moment, but when Jared moves into him again, his hips rise to greet him halfway there. His cock sinks deep into the other, and another long, low moan rises out of Jensen: it lingers between them, and when it ends, Jensen throws a quick glance at the camera again, knowing it's capturing everything that happens between them. And suddenly (even if it _is_ a snuff film) he feels safer knowing that. Feels safer that whatever happens next, he'll have proof of it. For Jared, it's just a means of reliving the moment - reliving this control over Jensen, perhaps, or just to see himself fuck someone, take a man for the first time. For Jensen, it's security. Control that he doesn't have in this situation. It's evidence, a means for him to trust that this happened, and whatever comes, it'll be there to prove that what he experiences is real, was real, no matter what Jared says of it later - no matter how he twists it, and Jensen's certain that he will.

The red light flashes again. The scent of apples lingers strong in the room, and Jensen's breathing it in with every inhale, and his exhales still taste of green tea. His stomach growls, missing the supper he hasn't had yet. The thunder rolls out loud above them, and for a moment, the rain is no longer there.

Their bodies rock together in a surprisingly even rhythm; even their breaths hang onto some sort of a unity, meaning they're both still counting, both still controlling themselves. And Jared's so deep inside Jensen it feels like their bodies are one, and he _is_ big, and he's stretching him with each and every movement, opening him up to be used, taken, but Jensen doesn't mind it - it feels good in a way he didn't know to expect at all, the thrusts hitting him with deep-seated vibrations of pleasure that swallow him up and make him tremble.  
  
His hand falls down from Jared's skin; he doesn't need that now, doesn't really want it either. It's good to have just the movement between them, and he's not looking for reassurance from a man who can't give it to him. Somehow, even though he never manages to feel _safe_ here, at least he feels content, somewhat confident. The sound of their bodies joining is wet, sticky and lewd, and Jensen's never thought of it before, but the slaps of flesh against flesh make him very aware of what's being done to him. He listens to them and feels Jared's cock move inside him, and it makes his own cock ache with arousal all the while the rest of him shudders with embarrasment and shame - his fists ball up the blanket underneath them and he can _smell_ them, and sex has never smelled like that before. He's used to it being fragrant, with hints of his lover's artificial scents piercing through. Now it's none of that. It's apple-scented candles and sweat, flesh inside flesh, and his moans are half him breathing that all out and half him sucking it in.

Even behind closed lids, he can still count the camera's red light blinking in and out of sight. Recording. Recording directly after his guided meditation - preserving these images of sex, of him being taken, of him lying still on the bed moaning underneath Jared, legs spread, one of them raised to take the man's cock deeper inside him. It's still recording when the rhythm turns faster, when the sounds of flesh against flesh turn clearer and sharper, into loud slaps; it captures Jared's palm slipping over Jensen's throat, pressing down just enough to hint at it, and how it then falls back next to Jensen's ear on the mattress. It shows clearly how Jensen, at that moment, bends towards him, how he cries out, and in a blink-or-you'll-miss it, how his cock twitches with excitement as it happens, leaking with thick pre-come that drips over his stomach.  
He's bent up now, or at least his ass is; Jared's both hands move to keep his knees pressed to the mattress as he pounds into him, and it doesn't hurt nearly as much as Jensen feared even though there's enough friction to burn - Jensen can't remember ever being quite so throughoutly open, and it tickles at his self-consciousness, but he can't quite hang onto it. He licks his lips, pants, moans, and there's no way anything more articulate than that is falling out of his mouth at all - he can barely think as Jared's length rubs against his prostate over and over again. He's seeing stars, literally, with flashes of white crossing his vision each time he closes his eyes, and he's holding onto the blanket tighter until his fists are white and his fingertips are both numb and hurting at once.

"C-close," is all he manages to say.

Jared nods, flashes a grin and buries himself deep within Jensen - the sensation of that, of being filled all the way through, is just enough to knock Jensen over the edge. A drop of sweat runs down his forehead as he cries out, bucking his hips into that heat, feeling Jared's hip bones press into his flesh as he does so. His back is spasming in this pose, but he doesn't even care; for a while, the world is all white noise and thunder and the sound of a downpour rushing in like a waterfall, and he's shaking and gasping for air and leaking all over his stomach and chest - a warm splatter even hits him on the chin. Jared bends down and licks it off, shamelessly, his lips cradling Jensen's chin for a moment as he sucks the come off of his skin.  
Jensen feels him shudder, and then he's pounding into him again, but it doesn't matter. Jensen's just so damn relaxed that none of that gets a response from his body, he just lies there, breathing, world spinning around him, until he's hit with one more merciless wave of pleasure that grips him so tight it's almost painful. Jared's orgasm fills him up - his softening cock doesn't know what to make of it, so it twitches again, sensitive as hell, and trickles out one last drop of come. Jensen whimpers, arm over his eyes, unsure as his sex is of how to feel about it, and the camera beside them is still filming. It shows Jared crashing over him, arm crossed over Jensen's chest, panting, hair veiling his face as he trembles there for a while with seemingly no intent of moving away, of pulling out. And when he finally does, Jensen groans at the feel of his come and used lube trickling out after him: the mixture runs wet over his tail bone and once his back finally hits the mattress, spreads into his clean sheets.

Jared's elbow digs painfully into his chest, and he's heavy as all hell as he leans into him, but it only lasts so long. Finally the other man pulls up, brushes his hair back behind his ears and sniffs, eyes clear as he watches the rain outside and the flames of the candles surrounding them reflect from the green as Jensen looks at him. Then he bends his head, and Jensen hears his neck pop; he does it again to the other direction, rolls his shoulders and pulls them back, and again something pops. He sighs and finally turns his gaze towards the camera, a small smile playing upon his lips. He reaches out for it and turns it off before looking at Jensen again.

"I guess I'll see you tomorrow, then," he says, and relief floods into Jensen's chest.

With that, Jared grabs the camera and takes out the memory card from it. He rubs his thumb over it with a thoughtful expression on his face before licking his lips and planting the camera down.

"You want to keep this?" he asks, and Jensen makes a nervous sound.

"Yeah, I - I want it."

Jared nods and the card vanishes inside his fist.  
"I'll take it for now," he tells Jensen, "I'll give you the card back tomorrow when I've copied it. You'll have yours and I'll have mine."  
He stays quiet for a moment before another grin spreads on his features. He looks down at Jensen and runs his palm over the man's chest again, and his fingertip slides through the mess of come over the older's skin before he pulls back.  
"Maybe we can make more later."

And with that, he's standing up again. His legs tremble and Jensen's happy to see that, but his own are probably worse; he can barely sit up to watch Jared disappear out of the door with his fist still firmly around the memory card.

"Thanks for that," Jensen hears him call from the other room a while after, once he's dressed up and good to go.

The door shuts after him and the lock turns again, leaving Jensen well and alone in his den once more. He falls back onto the bed and closes his eyes, dreading the moment he has to climb up and finish his evening routine despite the overwhelming weariness in his body. Somehow, it just doesn't feel the same anymore.

 


	2. The Tiger Boy

* * *

 

Jensen expects things to change. For something, at least, to change. He lingers inside his trailer on the morning after, looking for sore spots in his body, ashamed and afraid of going out and into the make-up trailer; he doesn't really have an excuse for the bite marks, for all those hickeys, on his neck. It takes him a while to realise that he doesn't _need_ an excuse - that for the first time in his career, he's truly done something that fits his profile.

He turns it into a joke about a woman who never existed, awkwardly, eyes wide and heart rate going up, but he survives, and that's it for that. The marks are sensitive, each bruise aches when touched up, but when the make-up is all there, it feels like he's hidden. He's got a secret, and he's not sure what to make of it, so he pretends it doesn't exist.

He walks funny. Stiff. Not because he's hurting (and he's not), but because he expects the pain, feels like it should be there. At least for _something_ to linger about him as a constant reminder that he's changed, the set has changed, his whole life has changed. He slept with the enemy, and throughout the night he should have been tossing and turning with the guilt of it, but instead, he closed his eyes and fell asleep without meditation. Blank like a new canvas. A monster in the making, perhaps. Something inside him feels broken but he can't track it down.

Jared's the same, too. He walks, talks, acts like himself; he's distant, snappy, always irritated, only calm when he's given compliments, and it's the duty of the crew around him to appease him at all times. Jensen hesitates, turns around at the doorway, afraid to go in and find out what it is exactly that he's broken - that _they_ have... but it doesn't feel right to claim a _them,_ and he discards the idea. Whatever happened, he brought it upon himself. He invited Jared in. Let him do exactly whatever he pleased, just like everyone else on the set. And there's a chance, an ugly, horrible small chance, that everyone in the room knows something about him now that wasn't there yesterday. Maybe it's spread through email last night while he was asleep; the fact that he checked his inbox over breakfast doesn't mean anything, and the fact that his artist didn't know doesn't guarantee that no one else has seen it yet. The thought hits quietly, but the nightmare takes root fast and holds on tight. What if...?

A shudder shakes Jensen when he steps in the room at his cue - someone's looking for him, loud, calling him tardy. He is. Out of fear, he's late for the first time in years, and not because he's slept in.

The scene rolls smoothly. Jared pays him no special attention, and Jensen faces him to his best ability as Dean, but Dean's running scared, just like every other part of Jensen is. It's hard to bind him down and make him sit here and look at his brother, when all Jensen sees are flashbacks from the night before, hands holding him tight by the arms, pushing him back... a naked body over him, filling him up. Did he want it? God -

"Cut! Ackles, what's the hold-up? You've got a line! Try to wake up, will ya?"

Clarity returns to Jensen's eyes. He blushes. Before he has the chance to respond, something else about him misses the mark.

"Mother of - someone cover up that bruise. Jesus, kid, did you pick up wrestling?"

A pair of familiar hands take a hold of the sleeve of his shirt. The woman looks at him questioningly as she dabs on some concealer, tries to make the fingerprints vanish from Jensen's arm.  
"It'd be better if he was wearing a long-sleeve, I'm not going to lie," she calls behind them.

"For fuck's sake. Ackles, be careful next time, alright?"

Jensen nods. From the corner of his eyes, he catches the grin on Jared's face, and it chills him to the bone. But at least - at least he hasn't shared it. These people are annoyed, not in on something; they haven't seen the film. Jensen turns away, afraid to meet Jared's eyes, and waits until he's brought a fresh shirt to wear. The bruise vanishes under soft plaid. Concealed. Covered.  
When the scene is filmed, Jared bumps into him, nearly knocks him over. His shoulder hurts from the impact, and he expects something more, a fist to the face or at least sharp, toxic words, but instead he feels nails against his fingertips, undoing his fist and slipping something inside.  
"It's a good one," Jared tells him under his breath before stepping ahead and leaving Jensen breathing the dust.

He stands there in the midst of the commotion, in the way of everything that needs to be moved for the next scene, and he's breathing shallowly as his fingers slide over the slightly wet rectangle in his hands. The tooth-like edges, the smooth corners... it's the memory card from his camera. Just like Jared promised. He pockets it, cheeks blazing, eyes glancing around wildly as if he's holding something forbidden - he feels like a child, petrified, horrified, ashamed, but no one looks at him twice. A ladder knocks him on the arm. Just another bruise in the making. It gets him to move on for the meal waiting for him elsewhere, but he's not hungry. There's a hollow inside him that he doesn't know how to cover.

Filming keeps him busy. He shares a few laughs with the guest stars between the scenes, enters the house of a victim looking for evidence, chats up a woman as FBI. Dean breathes with him, more at ease now that Jared isn't by his side, but oddly - as always - somehow incomplete without Sam by his side, and Jensen can't help but wonder how it happens, how a role within him is so attached to a role within Jared, when the two of them share nothing together in the real world. He doesn't see Jared again before the day is wrapped up, and for the first time, he feels conflicted about it as he prepares to leave the set behind. Outside, snow is falling quietly: the first snow of the year, but it won't stay on the ground. Each flake vanishes as soon as it hits the pavement.

No one waits for him by his trailer. He makes a full circle around it, expecting to find Jared at every corner just waiting to repeat the night before, but he's not there. He's not _inside_ the trailer either, even though Jensen makes sure to check each corner and the toilet, too. The notion should make him happy, but it doesn't; all it leaves is a nagging uncertainty as he chugs down his smoothie without tasting it, as he showers as long as he can under hot water despite the fact that water is a limited resource, and even as he settles to meditate before turning in to sleep. Why _isn't_ he there? Does he not care enough to come by? Is he just waiting, knowing Jensen expected him, making him squirm as he waits for the scene to repeat itself? It's hard to count breaths tonight. They don't come even, and Jensen's mind won't give him peace. It takes him an hour to give up, but sleep doesn't welcome him either. So he turns. And tosses.

Jared's not there the next night, either, and not the one after that. He treats Jensen the same as usual, acting as if he's thin air outside of their scenes, but Jensen follows him around with his gaze and every last cell in his body is screaming.

_Why don't you do it already?_

On the fourth night, he plugs in the memory card and plays the video. He's naked in it, vulnerable, scared, surrounded by a thousand burning candles. Sweaty. Apple-scented. Jensen watches Jared move over him, watches the man's cock slip inside his body, watches his own face as Jared takes him, and if he was confused before, the film doesn't help it. He catches his own eyes through the screen and pauses the video briefly before closing it.

_What were you thinking?_

There's the same lost expression on his face now as his camera captured days ago. The very next night, he spots Jared standing by his trailer door again. And this time, the snow stays on the ground as it falls. It covers everything under a thin blanket, like powdered sugar, soft under the foot. Jensen's steps slow down and he hesitates, and he's scared and tears burn at his eyes, but he can't turn around. He can't - and still, he does. He walks back all of fifteen feet, then thirty, before he freezes on spot and sobs. There's nowhere to go. He hears Jared move behind him, jogging, then slowing down; the way his palm lands over Jensen's arm, the way his fingers wrap around it, is almost gentle.

"Hey, where are you going?"

Jensen teeth ache as he presses them together. There's something in his throat, clamping it closed so that he can't breathe. He's trembling, his legs are weak and when he breathes out, the air moves as a pillowy cloud. He watches it leave and disperse, wishing he could disappear with it.

"I've been waiting forever. Come on. Just let me in. We'll have a drink together."

Stiffly, Jensen nods and turns around.  
_You've got a wife and two kids,_ he wants to tell Jared. Remind him. Make him go away, whatever the price tag attached. But he knows Jared doesn't care, has never cared. He's never heard of him cheating on them, but - he knows Jared doesn't _care_. It's as simple as that.  
They walk together, Jared's arm over Jensen's back so that he can't turn around and try to run again. He opens the door with shaky hands and one more cloud disperses in front of him into the rain of small, light white snowflakes like stars falling down from the cloud-covered sky above them. They step inside, Jared blocking the way out; Jensen takes off his shoes and walks in, facing the ground. Like a prisoner walking to his execution. Exactly like before.

He lifts his eyes to the sound of something hard colliding with his kitchen counter. Jared's looking for something in his cupboards, drawing out drawers and digging inside for treasure. Jensen looks at the bottle of red wine numbly for a moment before realising what he's after.  
"The bottle opener," he says in an empty voice, "is..."  
He doesn't remember where it is. He got one from the team years ago, it's there somewhere. Jared got one too. They're carved with their initials. Jensen can't count all the things he has with his initials on them, or with the letters SPN on them - it seems that everything he owns is carved with one of those things, and many of them with both. He sighs.  
"... in the second lowest drawer by the dishwasher."

Jared waves at him, never looking up. Jensen retreats until his body hits the couch, and his eyes are dead as he looks ahead. His heart's beating steady again, but every beat hurts, and an ache has settled into his chest. He's hoping it's an emergency, but knows deep inside that it's not. Nothing is going to save him, just like last time.

Jared offers him a glass. The wine smells strong and sweet and he hasn't had alcohol in months. They drink together in silence, and Jared watches him the whole time; Jensen would expect to pass out from some drug slipped into his drink, if he didn't know that Jared didn't need that and that they're both equally aware of the fact. Maybe it would make it kinkier, but he expects that there's a more tempting thrill in watching him struggle. He's been struggling all week - for what? Clarity? Control of his own emotions?

"The wine's good," he says.

"If it wasn't, I wouldn't be drinking it."

And yeah, Jared is a collector. Of course he would know which kind to bring, which kind to drink. Jensen watches the blood-like liquid stick to the edges of his glass as he shakes it gently. Jared draws breath again, makes a small sound before he speaks.

"Have you watched the film we made together?" the man asks him, his tone playful, suggestive.

Jensen nods.  
"It's a good angle," he hears himself say, like a director to another.

"I thought so too."  
Jared's happy about it. He sips his wine and waits quietly for a minute, savouring the taste or his thoughts or both. Maybe he's imagining Jensen watching them. Jensen's imagining  _him_ watching them and suddenly he realises why Jared didn't come earlier; he didn't have to. Everything he needed was on that file. Himself, there, on top of Jensen - Jensen's eyes looking at the camera, his hands searching for comfort where none would be given to him. Jensen's back-arching orgasm, the proof that he was there willingly. The budding bruises on his neck and arms only make brief appearances on the film. No one else would know how he felt about it, not even if they saw the evidence he'd relied upon. It looks consensual. Looks like he's not being used. But they both know better, and maybe that's what gets Jared off. Maybe, this whole week, he's had everything he needed within a click on his computer: the chance to live that moment over and over again.

"I was thinking," Jared continues, and the wine in his glass is licking at the edges steadily in controlled waves.  
It leaves behind lines that break apart as the red escapes and the glass becomes clear again.  
"I want to make another one."

Jensen doesn't say anything. Doesn't have to. It isn't up to him. He's got no control over it, not the filming, not Jared, not his own role in the film, not even his body. He resigns to that and closes his eyes instead.

"A little different this time. I want to film you, first."

He opens them again and blinks slowly before turning somewhere towards Jared's direction. He looks like right past him, but the idea is there.  
"You want to film me?" he repeats and sees Jared nodding.

The man seems excited.  
"Yeah. So once you're done with your drink, put the card back in the camera and come help me set up the bedroom again."

"You want candles?"

"You pick the scent."

Jensen nods. It's just a matter of which one of the scents he wants to take from himself. He'll never smell apples without remembering that night again. So which one is it now? Cinnamon? Orange blossoms? Lavender? He casts a look into the window, as if hoping someone would walk past at half past eleven in the night, but no one's there. His body's tingling, he realises with a jolt of surprise in his gut: it  _wants_ this. Is it a traitor, or does it speak the truth for him? He doesn't know, but he chooses orange blossoms in his mind as he plants down his glass and reaches for his camera. The memory card is still jutting from his laptop, but he doesn't take it. Instead, he grabs the camera's bag and digs in for another one. This one, at least, has space on it; he doesn't know why he cares. Maybe it's just the thought of Jared finding out that his movie wasn't filmed to the end that scares him, or maybe he wants this film too. In the end, it doesn't matter. Jared gets his camera and enough gigabytes for his home movies. Jensen... gets to do whatever he's told to. The bruises on his arm ache again.

He hands the camera to Jared before moving in to find the candles. It's a nearly full bag, he's only taken out two before; there are no other associations to ruin for this one, he never got to grow used to it. Not like to apples and cinnamon, the combination of which smells of home - he hasn't lit the pair yet again, doesn't dare to pull open the other bag of apple-scented candles. The thought of it makes him feel cold.

"What do you want me to do?"

They plant candles around the room again. This time, the camera isn't rolling and Jensen's still fully clothed. But the lube is already there, on top of his bedside table, and he didn't leave it there. He hid it back in the drawer and left it there, and it's remained there for almost a week.

"I want you to strip down," Jared tells him in a voice that has an undertone of excitement in it, but only the undertone; the rest of it remains flat, like he's reading out an instructions booklet.  
"I'll film you, and then I'll film you on the bed. You could play with yourself a bit for me."

"I don't know if I want to do that on camera. Or - with someone in the room."

"No one else will see this. You'll do it."

Jensen nods again.

"Then," Jared continues, "I want you to film me. You know, things that you like about me. Things you think are hot."

It makes the other man stop for a moment, with a burning candle warming his fingertips, ready to be placed down but stuck in mid-air. It heats up quickly as Jensen stares at Jared, surprised.  
"You're giving me the camera."

"Yeah. Yeah, of course. I want you to do the same thing to me. I want to see that on film and - I want to know what you see when you look at me, right? So you can show me."

Jensen shrugs.  
"Alright, I guess. What then?"

"Then - I don't know. Maybe we fuck again. Or maybe not. I don't know, I haven't planned that far."

"A good director knows what he's doing."

"Yeah, but that's the main thing. _You're_ a director. I'm an artist. I want to do this and see where it gets us."

The candle finally lands by the window. It doesn't quite fit and Jensen hopes nothing disturbs it - he does love the trailer. It's been a home for him for years now. Watching all of this burn... it could be freeing, a relief even, but there are so many things in here that are dear to him - those things, he'd rather not watch turn to ashes. He tears his eyes off of the bed and looks at Jared for a moment, wondering what the catch is. This doesn't sound like it'll bruise him more, at least as long as he plays along.  
"And if I don't want to do it?" he asks, playing the devil's advocate.

Jared shrugs.  
"Didn't you ask that same question before? I think we answered it pretty well."

There's a difference, but Jensen doesn't push the issue. It's semantics, and he still doesn't know what he wants. It's been days, he's had time to figure it out. Outside, the small falling stars have turned for clumps of snow. The magic isn't gone, just changed; it'll be white tomorrow.  
Beside him, Jared picks up the camera again. He turns it on and aims it around, makes some adjustments to the settings, and then points it at Jensen. He's smiling, and the candlelight makes his dimples look deeper and his eyes greener as he looks at Jensen over it.  
"Good to go?" he asks, the playfulness back in his tone.

It's Jensen's turn to shrug, but he still hesitates.  
"No one else will ever see these, right?" he asks.  
He's asking for a promise. For trust. Something that seems so purposeless in this situation, but he needs it; he needs that security.

"Of course not. Do you think I want just anyone to see me like  _you_ see me?" Jared asks him, brow raised. He lowers the camera again, seems to hesitate.  
"I'm gonna take my clothes off now. So that it doesn't get boring when you're done and it's my turn."

Jensen watches the camera as it's placed on the bedside table next to the lube and two candles. He stares at it the whole time Jared undresses, all the way until he's dragging down his black briefs, and then he finally steals a glance. He's not sure why he does it, but the sight makes his stomach jump strangely. It still swirls like a gentle whirlpool when he looks away again and sees Jared pull up the camera.

"Like what you saw?"

The red light is on again. Jensen looks at Jared like a deer in the headlights, head swimming.  
"What?"

"I saw you look."

"Oh. Oh, I didn't -"

"C'mon. Tell me. You're looking at me right now. Like it?"

The million dollar question. Instead of answering, Jensen smiles crookedly - he tries to make it even and fails, but Jared seems pleased with it anyway.

"Show me what you've got," the younger man orders, pointing the camera steadily towards Jensen.

The air smells of orange blossoms. The sweet scent is easy to breathe in, less invasive than the strong, pervasive scent of apples. Jensen pushes his fingers underneath his shirt, hesitates for a moment and then pulls it off. It comes over his face and he breathes in deep, savouring this last second of privacy before he's uncovered, and once the shirt is off, he relives that moment again. He drops the shirt on the floor, out of sight, and pushes his thumbs underneath the waist of his jeans. This isn't him. He's never done anything like this before. He's posed a thousand times in his life, posed like this half-exposed in front of a camera and it shouldn't be anything new, but now he's insecure, uncertain of what is expected of him. His hand slides up to his front, wrestles with the belt buckle for a moment, but then it falls limp again before the thing is undone. He looks into the camera, quiet, and hears Jared breathing calmly behind it: he takes in that moment, too, like the moment when everything was covered by the fabric of his shirt, and he clears his throat.

"What do you want?" he asks, and he's not sure if he means right now.

It seems to be a hard question for Jared, too. They look at each other and Jensen realises he's not escaping this eye contact - he's dwelling in it, measuring Jared, and in an intoxicating wave of enlightenment, he realises this is exactly how he felt before. Not sure, not even close to it, but somehow content with his powerlessness. He's trapped in a current and the current is uncertainty, but it's taking him somewhere and there's no need to struggle against it; he knows it's pointless, and surrendering to it is the safest option - the only one that he has. Jared smiles at him.

"I don't know. I've never done this before. What do you want me to see?"

He revels in it, thinking he's wanted. That Jensen wants to give him something in the first place. Jensen looks down at his belt buckle and lets go of it. Instead, his fingers trap the front of his jeans and drag it down a little, pushing down his underwear at the same time. He looks up, but Jared seems enthralled by the show in front of him, and Jensen tugs down a little more so that the trail of hair running down his belly turns thicker and wilder in front of the man's eyes. He slides his hand to the other side of his jeans and tugs it down the same, showing the curve of his hip next; just the slightest amount of nude skin, and he can already see a bulge in Jared's jeans. His other hand joins in, covers up the right side of his jeans, and he tugs both sides down, pulls at the jeans until they inch lower and lower as far as the belt allows them to go. He swipes a hand past his chest, up over his neck; he rubs at it uncertainly, then runs his palm down his sore arm.

"I want to see you hard," Jared tells him in a tense voice.

His voice, somehow, tempts the desired reaction. The fine hair all over Jensen's body sticks up, but it's not the only thing in him that strives to move into that direction. He brings his hand over the front of his jeans again, looks away and presses down to get another wave of that pleasure. The feel of someone watching him burns at him, and he retreats his hand fast, but he can feel his cock filling up against the constraints of his clothes and he hears Jared's breath hitch as he aims the camera down. It's quiet for a moment, with Jared watching him grow hard and him just  _feeling_ it, but there's something to that feeling... to that experience of being exposed in this way and having someone watch him this closely that just turns him on more. Jensen wouldn't have figured himself for an exhibitionist, but he's not turning the offer down now. It's salvation, it's everything he's looking for; a way out of embarrasment. He'd much rather be aroused and play along than be a goddamn victim.

"Now that's... that's more like it. Show me more."

Jensen's hands finally untangle the belt buckle. Its jaws let go of the leather and the belt slips loose around his hips, and he leaves it like that as he moves on to unbutton his jeans and drag down the zipper. He's hanging open when he leans down on the bed, sits on it, and kicks off the jeans altogether; they form a lump on the ground, a lump that his feet rest comfortably atop as he drops to his back and closes his eyes. He runs his palm over his cock standing hard inside his briefs and he swallows hard, unsure if he can cross this line. Shame still gnaws at him as he grips his length through the fabric and gives it a few strokes; he pulls up his legs and presses them together, covering up the view almost completely, but his fingers rest over his balls and the camera sees them still. He fondles them awkwardly before letting his legs fall limp again, and he pulls them apart just enough to show his cock again - he can hear Jared let out a breath, and the sound rushes blood into the tips of his ears and all over his cheekbones.

"Spread your legs."

Jared moves the camera closer, runs it over Jensen's crotch as he still palms at it, conflicted between the scorching shame and the waves of arousal that crash in and almost completely erase the former, but only for seconds at a time. The other man sits on the bed beside Jensen and films him as he masturbates, captures the moment his hand moves underneath his briefs and then rushes the take in his expression. The camera witnesses Jared's hand moving over Jensen's thigh and running its length down to his heated crotch, watches it linger there for a moment before it reaches over Jensen's hand. Jared sits there for a moment, just feeling Jensen's hand running over his own length over and over again, and Jensen's lips part and he can't help but breathe loudly as he feels his cock come in contact with Jared's hand every now and then. A part of him wishes Jared would take a hold of him and help him, but another is relieved when he retreats his hand instead and sits up.

"I want to see all of you, okay?"

Kicking off the briefs is harder than tearing off the shirt ever was. The last line of protection between Jensen and the never-blinking eye off the camera, and suddenly he realises he's not that worried about Jared seeing him - Jared's already seen all of him, and he's taken it all without disapproving of it - but the camera can see him as he is. The camera may not comment, but it does worse, it  _shows_ him and it sees him, all the time, making it possible for anyone else to see him, too. Jensen breathes heavily and presses his eyes closed, hoping the thing disappears. When he opens his eyes, the camera is still there. Worse, it's now taking in the whole of him as he is there, and he tries to adjust, to look better on the film, so that he won't be throughoutly embarrassed when he sees himself later - it doesn't enter his mind that he could simply choose not to view the film. It's the only control he has here: to know that what anyone else can see, he's seen too.

His hand still covers his cock until Jared takes a hold of it and pulls it away, exposing him in full. The camera lingers upon his length, moves between his legs and Jared pushes his leg up so that his ass shows, too. He lets go soon enough, however, returning to filming Jensen's face instead: Jensen faces the lens and watches his own reflection on it, but it doesn't make sense. The fires from the candles reflect on it and he can count three of them at all angles.

"Your turn," Jared breathes out, almost whispers; he hands the camera towards Jensen, and finally it's Jensen turn to look at him instead.  


He's hard, his cock standing firm against his thigh, its tip the shade of his lips and reflecting the light in the room. His hand runs over it as Jensen adjusts to the weight of the camera in his hand, and he captures it by accident - then, purposefully, he lingers upon that sight and watches through the camera's screen as it happens. In slow, lazy movements, Jared brings his large fist over his cock: its tip gets swallowed by his grip only to be revealed again a few times over as Jensen holds the camera still, somehow hypnotized by the sight in front of him. He shivers and the camera shakes, and he feels the microphone suck in not only the wet sounds from Jared's movements but also the heavy breath that escapes his own lips. He feels his cock twitch against his stomach, and for a moment, Jared's pace grows quicker.

From there, Jensen moves the focus over the man's stomach. He watches the muscles ripple, watches the whole of it rise and fall, and before he realises, he's reached out a hand to touch it; he doesn't expect it to be soft, but it is soft, and it's warm and the skin over it is smooth. He's not made of plastic or hard or rough things and Jensen should  _know_ this, if not by instinct then by logic and by memory, but this is the first time he really ever takes the time to feel him out. He runs his hand over that vulnerable area for a few times, the camera aimed at it, relishing in the illusion of trust that it offers him before he moves up for the chest. He's not sure what to do with it, so he presses his hand over Jared's pec and waits for something horrible to happen. Nothing does. The anti-possession tattoo looks worn on the man's skin on the other side; it's been a while since it was applied, but he knows from experience that they wear off slowly.

He's facinated by Jared's breathing. He's so calm, and Jensen's not sure if he's ever seen him like that. He's almost... safe, for now, in a state that doesn't only imitate relaxation but radiates contentess and confidence too. Even though Jensen doesn't dare to look at him in the eye, he films his lips and the tip of his nose, dares to reach up and trail his bottom lip with his finger before seeking out a dimple from beneath the scruff. It's like touching a tiger, knowing that any movement can set it off but for now... it's getting everything it wanted, and it's curious to find out what happens next.

A question burns inside Jensen as his fingers brush back the curl of hair dangling over Jared's sharp eyes. He feels the man watch him carefully, sees the tiger's tail twitch anxiously, but he doesn't press the matter; he leads the curl behind Jared's ear and tucks it there, leaves it alone. Their eyes finally meet and there's an understanding between them.

_I'm warning you,_ Jared's telling him.

_I understand,_ he's saying back, even though he doesn't, not really.

Jensen stands up, turns the camera to them both. He breathes in and closes his eyes and does the single most stupid thing he's ever done on or off camera: he leans in and joins their lips, just to know what it feels like. There's the sting of facial hair against his, the burn of it as it tangles with his own, and there's the luxurious softness of lips parting for him, inviting his tongue in. When he enters, Jared's tongue touches his, but only fleetingly: he lets Jensen explore without moving in, waiting, but his lips are greeting Jensen's, parting further for him, brushing together with his own. He tastes... nice, with a hint of cool mint there somewhere like he's brushed his teeth before coming here. He's passive, but Jensen understands it's a part of whatever game he's set up for them. He's the object now, just as Jensen was before, to be touched and explored and filmed. The only surprise is that he's really letting Jensen do it, letting him dictate  _how_ he's portrayed, as if he's certain that any way is good. But good enough? He's shouted at directors before, shouted at the film crew, shouted at photographers, everyone who risks taking a picture from the wrong angle, whose work doesn't meet his absurd standards that more often than not have nothing to do with the craft and everything to do with his own sense of entitlement and importance. And he's so quiet now, and Jensen realises he does like him this way. He's drawn to that contradiction, as unhealthy as it is, and it feels like playing with fire - there's a certain sense of power hidden in this game that he's growing fond of, and it has nothing to do with the control he only seemingly has over Jared now. No, it's deeper than that. A realisation is dawning within him, a strange thing that tells him he's the  _only one_ who can keep Jared quiet and content this long, the  _only one_ who gets to touch him like this, for whom he spares patience and... is it affection? Can it be called that?

He looks into the other's eyes again, their lips parting with a quiet sound, and his palm presses over Jared's erect cock, holds it cupped between himself and the man's own body. There's a flash in Jared's eyes, a flutter of his lids, but he pulls himself together fast. The camera aims towards him, Jensen's hand aching from the weight and strain. They're both quiet as Jensen's hand wraps around his cock and starts to massage him, but Jensen's lips are still parted and Jared's breath comes heavy through his nostrils. Jared's hand ghosts over Jensen's, pushes between his fingers and takes control of the camera. He steps back, brings his other hand between them and takes a hold of Jensen's cock right beside where Jensen's handling his, and he points the camera there, capturing each stroke and the subtle rocking of their hips. Jensen's whimper sounds close to the camera, and Jared huffs to it - Jensen's not sure if it's approving, belittling or frustrated, and Jared's expression doesn't tell. The taller man pushes him back until his calves hit the bed again, and he remembers it from the last time, only this time he's not being manhandled and he has the option to sit down instead of falling back. And he does; Jared crawls over him, places the camera right where it was before on the bedside table, and they keep jerking each other off in that weird pose and angle, wordless, holding back the moans and only their breaths giving off how aroused they both are. Jared bends to kiss the corner of Jensen's mouth, moves lower from there to his jaw and he nips at the curve of it, teeth scraping into facial hair but barely grazing the skin. Jensen lets out a small sound, afraid he'll move to bite at the old, still covered bruises, but Jared doesn't do it. Instead he pulls back again and turns to look at them, at their hands, working over their bodies. He's panting, skin wet with sweat, and he's trembling in the pose he's taken, muscles straining to keep him on the edge of the bed. In a moment, he snarls, and the silence is over.

Jared brings his palm over Jensen's shoulder with weight and pushes him down on the bed; he climbs onto him, thighs on both sides of the older's body, hand still gripping his cock just as Jensen's is attempting to stay on him. He sits down over Jensen's thighs and his weight settles there comfortably, most of it leaning over his thighs, and he leans back and throws his head back so that his hair falls down over his shoulders, away from his face, and he lets out a gorgeous moan, hips pushing into Jensen's touch. Jensen can't help but watch him, his own cock twitching in the man's now still grip, hips burning to rock against his fist but tied down by his weight, and with a sense of desperation in his movements, he slides his hand over Jared's length faster to see him shiver. He watches Jared's exposed throat, the way his Adam's apple bobs as he swallows hard, the way his muscles strain and the veins on his arms stand out from his skin - and he's right, Jensen realises. He  _is_ beautiful. The only thing about him that doesn't fit the picture is the one thing that cannot be captured in one: if only there was more of a heart underneath there, something to connect to, something that wasn't so violent and cruel... Jensen could fall in love. He could, and perhaps, even this way, he already has. The feeling strangles his heart and aches in his chest and he doesn't know what to do with it, and it scares him. It scares him to think where it'll lead him, what he'll willingly walk into because of it, and he tries to shut it down even as Jared looks down at him again, hips rocking into his touch with some urgency, eyes dark, hair clinging to his wet face. He's still just holding Jensen's cock instead of giving back what he gets, but Jensen doesn't seem to need that encouragement. Even like this, mostly untouched, he can't help but imagine how it would feel like if Jared's hips weren't rocking to his fist at all but back onto his cock instead - how it would feel, how it would look, to have Jared arch over him at the sensation of Jensen inside him.

Jensen tries to swallow that image, that idea, but once it's there, it burns at him as a need that he can't ignore. He's almost ready to ask, but he doesn't have the words, and maybe he's afraid of the backlash -  even more than anger, he fears a sneer, a slight at himself, that would do away with the even the mere fantasy of having it; he's not worth it. He's not good enough.

(He's just a victim.)

"Jared?" he breathes out, and his fingertips fall cold as if on command.

"Yeah, Jen?"

"You wanna - you wanna ride?"

Jared's legs press into Jensen's hips. He stops, slaps away Jensen's hand from his cock, and there's a silence again. He glances at the camera, seems to consider it, as his hand moves off from Jensen's cock and presses over his stomach instead. It's wet and warm against Jensen's skin, and Jensen's still caught thinking about it when Jared turns his gaze to him.

"No one else ever sees the film," Jared says, and it takes Jensen a moment to realise it's a question, or perhaps a threat.

"Of course," he speaks back; as long as Jared holds his end of the deal, he'll hold his.

"And I prep myself."

"Sure."

The man on top nods solemnly, twists a little and reaches for the lube. He's spreading it over his hands and Jensen still doesn't believe this is actually happening. He's about to take the queen - the set's untouchable one. The one guy he never thought he'd want to take, and never knew he could, and yet somehow, he's still the submissive one here, the deer, the prey, the one who has no way out. For this one moment, he could almost forget it.

"You ever had a man before, Jay?"

Jared's eyes flicker towards him.

"No. You?"

"No one."

It's not true. It's not true for either of them, but it's not a literal question. Jensen's never _taken_ one, and Jared's never been taken. A quick prayer to whoever's listening that Jensen won't hurt him, won't piss him off, and somehow can stand up to the task - he watches Jared reach down, slip in a finger, then two. His cock rests over Jensen's stomach, right beside his own, and there's a drop of clear precome on it staining Jensen's skin. Jensen's leaked the first drops quite a while ago, but the approaching orgasm has dispersed again like the clouds of mist he was breathing earlier. It won't be a long ride, but he'll give Jared what he can. With any luck, he'll get him to come first.

He doesn't expect it when Jared grips his cock instead and slathers it with lube. His hand is warm but the lube is cold and the strange paradox makes Jensen shiver. He reaches out again, brushes a finger over Jared's ear, then three over his neck, and watches him shiver instead. Feeling achieved, he leans back to listen to his heart race within his chest - not painfully now, but with anxiety gripping his chest right beside the nervous excitement. When he's covered, Jared moves back to prepping himself. He takes a while, and Jensen's happy for it; at least they're not going to rush through it and fuck it all up that way. But when he finally does move over Jensen's cock and gives him that look that says 'I hope you know what you're doing', Jensen realises he doesn't. He's not prepared, not any more than Jared seems to be, and his fingers grip the bed beneath him as Jared sinks over his length. He's so soft, and so goddamn tight; the only thing Jensen can think is if he felt that way too, despite all the effort Jared put into making him fuckable. The heat of his body is insane, and he's wet and his body pulses around Jensen's length, and the sounds he makes are heavenly. They're short little grunts, shaky breaths and growls, little wet sounds from where his body joins with Jensen's, and he makes his way down inch by inch, sometimes clenching and stopping, sometimes sliding smoothly down another. It takes a while for him before he stops moving, trying, and rests for a moment, and Jensen can feel him relax around him, but he's still tight and tense and Jensen's afraid that if he moves, he'll tear something.

"You ever..." he breathes out, pulling up to lean on his arms in a half-sitting position, face now almost dangerously close to Jared's, "... taken  _anything_ up there?"

Almost timidly, Jared shakes his head.  
"I've done it a million times," the man growls, and he sounds angry at himself for not being perfect, "the other way around. I'm good at it. I'm good at  _this_ . But it's -"

"Different?"

Their eyes meet, and just as frustrated as he sounds, Jared nods. Jensen's breathing heavy through his parted lips and his cock  _aches_ inside Jared's body, but he doesn't move, doesn't do anything, just waits. It seems to throw Jared off, and Jensen's not sure why; has someone made him expect something else before?

Slowly, Jared bends his head down and starts to move. He pulls up first, and Jensen mistakes it for giving up; he expects to slide out of the man's body and he's ready to tell him it's alright, that they don't have to do this (a luxury that Jared would never offer him), but just when he's about to speak, the man sinks right back down, taking him a little bit further than before. He's almost completely in now, only an inch or so of length remaining, and the sensation is incredible - Jensen's had women before, and he loves them, loves making love with them, but this is different and doesn't quite compare. He's not sure what it is, the difference in anatomy or the tightness or the scent of another man beside him, but while it's certainly  _sex_ , it's a completely new form of it for Jensen. He's never had it like this before, and even if it's impossible to tell what he likes more, he definitely  _likes_ this.

He knows the same goes the other way, too; that for Jared, being taken is a new experience. Of course - he remembers that from before, the unique feeling of another man filling him up, taking him. It's nothing like anything he'd ever tried before, but he never had the chance to really think about it. Now he does: he thinks back to it as he feels Jared move over him, then  _sees_ him move over him, his hips rocking gently up and down as he eases himself onto the rhythm, and as they're both avoiding looking at each other just as determinedly, Jensen turns to look at the camera instead. He watches it, breathing slow and deep, watches their candle-lit reflections upon the lens, and he makes sure to remember this exactly as it is - the feeling like velvet, but wet and plush, surrounding him as Jared's hips move down over him, his flesh taking him in deeper, and the sucking feeling of it when he pulls up again, the rings of muscle holding tight around Jensen's cock as he retreats. He's making small, horny sounds, short light little moans, a quiet  _ah_ repeating over and over again in a broken, breathy voice. Jensen looks back at him and his heart jumps and seems to skip a beat at the sight, and he brings his hands over Jared's hips in pretend control over his movements just to  _feel_ him move, as if having that all over his own cock wasn't enough. He's surprised to find Jared's eyes closed as he drags his hand along his hip to his pubic area and grips his cock again, intent on getting him off as he rides him, but there he is, eyes closed and wet pink lips parted and blush over his defined cheekbones and the bridge of his nose, with little crinkles between his brows. The tip of his tongue runs often across his lower lip, and he's relaxing now: his body moves more, and each movement is more fluid than the one preceding it, and Jensen feels it in the way his tightness changes, how his muscles stop clamping down at him, and how the hold of his body becomes firm but constant. They're gliding together with ease now, and at an ever-growing pace, and the experience is overwhelming - Jensen knows he's leaking into Jared's body already, but he's holding back on the orgasm, tensing up to keep it at bay, forcing his thoughts away from the best of this to make himself last a moment longer. He's happy to feel the increased sticky wetness over his hand as he strokes the other's cock in rhythm with his movements, knowing that he won't need to hold off much longer; their voices are in unison now, quiet but needy and driven, often euphoric. For a moment, Jensen misses it already - it takes him a glance to the side to remember, to  _understand_ , that the red blinking light means this won't be taken from him anytime soon. He'll have this tape for himself, just like Jared had the one before it, this is  _his_ and he'll have it whenever he wants to view it again. The thought relaxes him, and at that moment, _right_ at that moment, the fantasy he had earlier suddenly unfolds around him.

Jared's body tenses - he arches his back, lips parted to let out a shaky gasp, and his muscles latch onto Jensen's length so tightly and so unexpectedly that air escapes him just the same at the feel of it. He's never felt anyone's orgasm like this, as pulses around his own cock like a hand gripping him but  _better_ , more throughout, and everywhere at once. It's never felt like this with a woman, either, even though he's had that experience before. It's blinding, and he's arching back too, spilling into Jared's body and the tight heat of him that surrounds him like it's the only thing that matters. At the end of it his body hits the mattress again with a soft thud and Jared follows him down, hands pressing into the bed on his both sides as he bends over to catch his breath. It takes a moment for Jensen to realise how hard he's shaking, how his arms are trembling and looking as if they might not hold his weight. He lets out short, uneven gasps as he climbs off of Jensen's cock, and then falls back on the mattress beside him, half of him colliding with Jensen so that it's Jensen who has to shift off the center of the bed.

The candles flicker around them at the blasts of air they're sending off with their sudden movements, but the flames persist and soon burn evenly again. The air's thick and sweet with the scent of orange blossoms, and the sound of Jensen's heart mixes together with Jared's quiet breathing beside him. He wants to ask him if he'll stay; he doesn't seem to be going anywhere, not on those legs, but once again he's lacking the right words to phrase it. Instead, he gets up, turns off the camera and cleans up his come-covered stomach, and while Jared still lies on the bed still and quiet, his eyes moving about the ceiling above, Jensen blows off most of the candles one by one, leaving only one lit on the bedside table next to the camera. He tugs at the blanket underneath Jared's body and manages to pull it out - most of it has been kicked into a mess anyway, and only a little of the side was pressed under the man's back. Jensen climbs on the bed still holding it and pulls it over himself, then offers it towards Jared; Jared looks at him, surprised again as if not accustomed to common courtesies, before taking a hold of it and curling stiffly up underneath it next to Jensen. Jensen expects him to close his eyes and fall asleep right away, but his eyes stay open and he keeps watching the room around them. The last candle reflects in his eyes, disappearing briefly each time he blinks.

Warm weight has settled into Jensen's limbs and he nuzzles his head into the thick, soft pillow underneath, but like Jared, he's not quite ready to sleep yet. He's still on his side, watching Jared, when the other rolls back on his back and resumes watching the ceiling. Both of them are breathing steady now, and Jensen's all too aware of the lingering stickiness over his stomach to be comfortable. He's starting to think clearly again, however, and the questions rise back to surface like driftwood after being submerged in the violent course for the past hour or so. For the first time, he feels like he can ask them - that maybe it's safe to do so.

The candle's flame flickers to some unseen movement, a ghost passing them by.

"What do you want from me?" Jensen asks quietly, his tone questioning and words long.

Jared shrugs.  
"I don't know."

He waits for a long while before speaking again, long enough for Jensen to give up hope on a better answer. After all, why would he get one? When has Jared ever given him a proper answer to anything at all?

"I don't think you'd get it if I told you," the man does clarify in the end.  
He doesn't look at Jensen, and now Jensen has to look up at the ceiling to figure out why it seems so captivating for Jared. He doesn't see anything in it or on it. It's just a blank, white trailer ceiling, the same one he sees every night when he sets to sleep.

"I really want to know," he pushes.

Now Jared glances at him, seems to measure him again. Some expression crosses his features fleetingly, perhaps concern or doubt, but it doesn't stick. Nothing sticks on him. He turns back again and sighs.  
"Why would I tell you?" he asks then, "Why - why would I choose you, out of all people, to confide in?"

Jensen doesn't know.  
"The same reason you're here to begin with?" he tries anyway.

It seems to hit a mark. Jared frowns, and his exhale comes out shaky. Then he turns towards Jensen again and looks him right in the eye, and there's something behind that look that chills Jensen to the bone.  
"Fine, I'll play," he says and Jensen just nods, unsure what to expect next.  
"I already told you. I told you when I came to you for the first time - I want to connect. But it's deeper than that. Not just - not just PR reasons. Not just for fun. Because..."

His voice trails off for a moment and he turns away again.  
"Because," he continues then, "I've never... I've never had that with  _anyone._ A connection. Everyone insists I have one with you, so I - I wanted to prove them wrong. I wanted to prove myself wrong. I've chased it all my life, trying to find someone who'd make me feel  _something,_ and I've never found it. Nothing makes me feel anything. Not you, not anyone. There's nothing worse than that, you know?"

A dry chuckle escapes him and he shakes his head to his thoughts. Jensen's quiet; he doesn't know what to say, but more than that, he's afraid that Jared will stop talking. He didn't expect a real opening up - this is something new.

"There's nothing worse than - never feeling anything. Every day, you wake up, and it's the same bullshit again. You get up. You pretend you're human. Well, I'm not. Never been. Never will be."

He faces Jensen again, and this time, he's expression is challenging.  _Push me away,_ it says, and for the first time Jensen realises that he's afraid of something - afraid of being turned down, afraid of losing something. It never occurred to him that Jared could feel something like that, and somehow, it sounds like it never occurred to Jared, either.

"You  _are_ human, Jared. Flesh and blood."

"No. I'm not. You don't fucking understand."

The eye contact is off again, and Jared's staring at the ceiling. He shudders when he draws breath, and his body's still warm and his skin sweaty when his arm brushes Jensen's as he shifts.

"Nobody fucking understands. Nobody gets it. I don't know why I fucking bother."

"Tell me."  
Jensen's voice is steady, so steady it surprises him. It lacks the fear that should be there - but it's nowhere to be found now, despite the agitation in Jared's voice. He's too pliant and comfortable to be afraid.  
"Tell me, and maybe I'll get it."

A heavy sigh leaves Jared's lips, but he seems to pull himself back together again. The anger slips off his features, replaced by a new blank nothing.  
"I'm always angry," he says, and his brows rise as if in amusement, "That's the only thing - the only fucking thing I've ever felt. Frustration, anger. Shrinks told me to label my feelings, so I did. That's it. That's the whole fucking spectrum. I'm never happy. I've never been in love. I've never been afraid. I feel shame, but only distantly. I don't know what the fuck affection is. I'm just empty, like there's nothing in me. Something's wrong with my brain, I just - I don't  _feel_ things. I don't feel. Do you understand what hell it is going through life like that? I never feel good. It's not worth it. The only thing that's worth it is playing Sam; pretending I feel, pretending I'm human, because unlike me,  _Sam_ is. He's the only person who - who lets me - who makes me feel like I can have those things. Things that are so fucking important to everyone that I'll never get to know and understand, because there's something wrong with my head, things like - like love or whatever. A connection, Jensen. I came here to have a connection with the one person who makes me feel the most. You."

Jensen feels cold. He watches the blank on Jared's features and knows that every word that he spoke is true. It shouldn't have surprised him; he'd known all of this before. It's obvious. He'd just never... expected it to be quite this literal. Jared turns for him again, sneering.

"So you... wanted to fuck me because you hate me," Jensen manages to push out before he lashes out.  
It makes so much sense, put like that.

The sneer clears off, taking away with it whichever words were meant to accompany it. Instead, Jared now just looks tired.  
"Yeah. You - you get it."

Jensen nods.  
"I do."

They're quiet for a moment and Jensen's mind is trying its best to work through what he's heard; the weight in his limbs is slowly growing, but he's still awake enough to have this talk.  
"So - did it... did it work?"

He expects a snap, a firm  _of course not_ , but gets nothing instead. He watches Jared watch the ceiling for what feels like the hundreth time that night, but at the end of it, he's rewarded with a shrug.

"I don't know. I've felt... different. Not so angry. You - you piss me off, Jensen. But you're a good person. You're everything I'm not. I've watched you for a decade, and you're good to everyone; you're sensitive, you're kind, you're an annoying little shit who greets the fucking sun every morning like you're thankful to be alive. You love your fans. You love your friends. You  _love._ And if I could feel something like that, I guess I'd be jealous. I'm not - but I could be. That's all I want. I want to be like Sam, I want - I want to be a real fucking boy."

It takes a lot of courage to take this last step, but if Jared's sharing his secrets now, maybe Jensen stands a chance. Hell, he might never get another, and it's bugged him forever.  
"Jared, I've gotta ask; why did you - why - I know you're..."  
But it's so damn hard to find the words. Jensen breathes in, prepares for the worst outcome. It wouldn't be the first time Jared opens his face over a badly phrased question.  
"... I know that when we started out, you didn't need a wig."

A twitch. Jensen closes his eyes, expects a blow, but nothing happens. Jared's breathing is tense and his body is stiff, but he hasn't moved, and he hasn't said anything to turn Jensen down yet - it's a good sign.  
"It's one of the things you're ashamed of, I know that, which just... what happened? Why did you shave it off in the first place?"

Jared's eyes never leave the ceiling this time. It takes him a while to calm down enough that he can speak, but Jensen's almost proud of him for that; he didn't expect an answer, not really. He expected a punch in the face, something to bring him back to reality.

Bonding. This might actually be it after all.

"I didn't shave it off."  
Jared swallows, clenches his jaw and breathes in slowly. He holds the air in for a moment before breathing it all out in a controlled, stretched-out manner, and Jensen realises that's what he's been doing all along; it's anger management, impulse control. A therapy technique.  
"I tore it off."

Jensen raises his brows. He's joking, right?

"Kept plucking until - until I was caught doing it. I didn't know I was doing it at first. I didn't know why I had - why my hair was thinning. I went to the doctor. Realised I was a fucking idiot. After that, I did it consciously, for the pain, to feel something, because it gave me a high. And at some point, I realised I couldn't stop doing it. It was covered up with all kinds of bullshit - extensions, beanies, whatever - but in the end it just... got to a point where - I had an inflammation. The hair wasn't growing back anymore. I had these huge bald patches on my head and I had to wear a wig anyway, so I... I thought that if there's nothing to pull, I can't be pulling it out either. And I shaved it off. Guess it worked."

Jared turns towards him, then turns on his side entirely, and watches him with that same blank expression he's worn for most of the conversation, and Jensen wonders if it's exactly how he feels - if the expressions he puts up for others are just masks, disguises.

"Have you ever - harmed yourself?" Jensen asks, and he doesn't really know why he's asking.  
There's a part of him, and not all too small part of him either, that's worried for the man beside him - and unlike before, unlike Jared must think, he doesn't see him as less or other than human. It's hard to remember if he's felt like that about another person before, but Jared, right now in front of him, is perhaps more human than anyone else he's ever met. The notion makes his head spin, and for some reason, he wants to kiss him again. Even if it's pointless - even if there's nothing behind the answer he gets, and even if he gets nothing at all.

Jared lets out a short huff, and Jensen doesn't press the matter further. Instead, he does lean in for a kiss. As before, Jared parts his lips for him; his hand reaches across the space between them and lands over Jensen's naked waist, soft and round and warm around his shape. The taste of mint is gone but his saliva still tastes fresh, and the underside of his lips is silky soft, and cool from the air he's breathing in. For a while, Jensen lingers in the kiss, and when it breaks, his lips are tingling. He shifts and returns his head over his pillow: half of Jared's face is lost in the other one, and Jensen misses the feel of that pillow underneath his lower back, but he doesn't say anything. He'll survive one night without it.

"Should you... take it off?" he asks timidly.

Jared opens his eyes and watches him for a moment. Then, stiffly, he sits up. Standing seems to be something of a task for him, and his legs are still trembling as he walks across the room.  
"You have a fresh towel in the bathroom?" he asks at the door, turning around.  
Jensen sits up after him and nods.

"Good."  
And with that, Jared's gone. For some minutes, Jensen listens to him fumble around in the dimly lit trailer - he can see his shape moving across the light through the door he's left ajar behind him. The shower's sound is muffled, and a few times something knocks at the wall. Jensen turns his gaze towards the lone candle on the bedside table and blows it off. Outside the window, it's still snowing; a fine layer of white has already gathered at the window's corners and the lower edge, and snowflakes, all bundled up together, have gotten caught on the glass itself. He's felt worse before, and he expected to feel a lot worse tonight - instead, a quiet content has settled in him. Finally, he gives in to the weariness in his body and sinks back in the bed right when the shower turns off. He's curled up and comfortable underneath the blanket when Jared pushes the door open and moves into the room; Jensen hears him discard the used towel over the door, and then feels him crawl onto the bed. In the faint light cast through the window, he looks quite different without the wig on, but Jensen reaches out for him all the same and brings his arm around Jared's waist. Stiffly, as if surprised by the fact, Jared does the same for him as he settles to rest; he closes his eyes before Jensen does, seemingly defiant and uncaring that Jensen's still awake.

Jensen takes that time to watch him, to see the real him underneath all the disguises he wears when he's awake, when he's pretending to be human - there are scars on his scalp, small but clear as they reflect light differently than the rest of his skin, but all of it is covered by a short cropping of new hair growing in. Without the frame of dark hair covering his features, he looks more defined somehow, as if the angles and edges of his face have been carved deeper by the shower he took. He seems slimmer, paler too, and Jensen can't help but wonder if that's an illusion or if this is closer to what he would be without all of that extra covering up his perceived flaws.

In a final act of bravery where none should be exercised, Jensen pulls his hand off Jared's body and reaches for his head instead. He runs his palm over the soft stubble and then down his ear before retreating and resting his hand over his waist again, and when he closes his eyes, he no longer feels like a deer: he's just a man, resting beside another of his own kind.

And maybe, just maybe, that's a good thing for them both.

 


	3. Flawed Existence

[ ](http://archiveofourown.org/works/6694714)

**([Part II: Flawed Existence )](http://archiveofourown.org/works/6694714)**


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